3 Give, Sympathise
by BML Hillen-Keene
Summary: Continuing the tragedy. John's turn. Is it possible to destroy a family? Sorry about the name change, I had forgotten my orginal title, but have just today recalled it. Beside's, this one suits the nature of the story better. Enjoy.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: Still Don't own_

**Give, Sympathise...**

_Prologue_

With a final, half-hearted push John sent the computer crashing to the ground, before crumpling himself, sliding to the floor from the desk. Surrounded on all side's by destruction. Destruction of his own making. Destruction he had wrought. With his own hands…

Hands that had been covered in blood…

That had been…

_He was beside Virgil in an instant, hands covering the blood soaked shirt; unable to find out where it was coming from, feeling the warmth of the blood. Eye's desperately searching for some way to stop it, to push it all back inside._

But he couldn't… Hadn't been able to…

Oh God!

_He pressed harder, using his own shirt, torn from him in a panic to staunch the blood flow. His heart sinking as Virgil's face just got more and more pale, and the blood continued to pool around him. _

Oh god… Virgil…

The sob's began, grating, unstable… making his breath catch, making him panic when he could no longer breathe through them, only making it worse. As images tumbled past him. Of Alan, Gordon, Virgil… or Scott, sitting in that damn office, oblivious to everything outside it's walls. His father… to wrapped up to notice his other sons needed him.

John flung a book from the floor, sending it crashing into the window. Not caring that he'd cracked the glass… Not caring…

God…

Finally the sobs eased, the anger eased, the pain faded to a dull aching throb where his heart should be, and the room was silent save for his shaking breaths.

He sat there, amidst his own destruction, and wished someone would come for him.

Wished someone would tell _him_ everything was going to be alright.

He was tired of being the one everyone turned to.

He couldn't do it anymore…

Tears came again, silently this time, desolation clear on his face, shining in his eyes. Knowing no one was going to come to him. Knowing this was the only time he would get to cry. His family needed him to be strong. Needed him to keep them together when they couldn't themselves.

So he cried, alone, in a room strewn with books, pages ripped from them, pictures, their frames scattered and broken. Every single thing he had ever treasured flung away, the room dark, cold.

Like him.

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	2. Chapter 1

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_Chapter 1_

John leaned against the wall just outside Gordon room, eyes closed. Not wanting to move, but knowing he had to. There was no one else who could. Absently rubbing his hands on his jeans, shying away from the reason he had picked up this habit. His sigh was light, and went unheard to the rest of the general population. Not that there was anyone else in the white corridor.

Opening his eyes he pushed off the wall and turned to the door beside him, once again going over his list of things to do today. Reaching out, distracting himself from the action by the repetitive thought process.

He knew the others thought he found it easy to just go in there, do what needed to be done. He didn't want to tell them just how hard this was. How he had to force himself to keep on opening that door. To go in there and face Gordon. Or force himself to remind them to eat or sleep. Flinching from where that thought was going to lead him, he found himself inside the room.

"Hey Gordon." he called.

The room was silent. Gordon had lapsed into it about four days ago now, just curled up in the corner, listlessly watching the wall. He moved when John or the nurses moved him, ate when they fed him, but other than that he was completely listless, unmoving.

The strait jacket had been removed, as Gordon was no longer a danger to himself, though he was closely monitored.

John made his way towards the corner Gordon normally sat in, steeling himself for the sight. It was just so heartbreaking, to see his normally happy little brother in such stillness. Drawing in a shaky breath, knowing he couldn't stop now. He was the only one Gordon had. It hurt everyone else too much to see him like this… It hurt John to see him like this. But he couldn't leave Gordon alone. Not after what had happened.

He sat back on his heels and looked at Gordon, knowing Gordon knew he was there. He just didn't know how to get through to him.

"You going to talk to me today Gordon?" he asked quietly.

No response.

John bit his lip and remained still. "Everyone's real worried about you Gordo, we'd really like you to come back to us." Nothing. John sighed and reached out, brushing some of Gordon's hair back. "I know the other's haven't come to see you very often. I can't make any excuses for them. But it isn't because of you Gordon. And it isn't because of what happened. Nobody blames you Gordo, it wasn't your fault." it was the same thing he said every time he came in, hoping the repetition would help Gordon some. But lately he was beginning to wonder if it was true. Was their father and Scott avoiding coming here because they blamed Gordon for what had happened to Alan? Surely they wouldn't…

But it had been weeks.

"Come on Gordon, I think we should maybe move to the bed. I'll read to you if you'd like?"

Nothing.

John sat down on the floor and just looked at his brother for the longest time before he just started talking. Needing to fill in the unnatural silence. This was worse than before, when Gordon had babbled non-stop about what had happened.

Half an hour later found John outside the room, seated on the floor, elbows resting on drawn up knees, fingers tangled in his hair. It wasn't Gordon's fault. John knew that. He would probably be acting the same way if it had happened to him. But he just wanted Gordon to get better.

"Are you alright Mr. Tracy?"

John looked up to the concerned from of Gordon's nurse. He smiled wearily.

"Bad day?" she asked kindly.

John shook his head. "No, he's the same as the last few days." he climbed back to his feet.

"Maybe you should get some rest John." she suggested.

The sound John made then that he passed off as a small laugh, was strained and unnatural sounding. "No rest for the weary." he told her. "I have the rest of my family to see to before I can rest." he offered her a small smile.

She smiled back, knowing any further words would not be heeded. This one had a burden on his shoulders, one he refused to share. Or couldn't, perhaps. "I'll see you this afternoon then John, yes?"

John nodded. "I'll be back around three."

He made his way down the corridor. Rubbing at his eyes. Dreading the upcoming confrontations he would have to face.

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	3. Chapter 2

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_Chapter 2_

John leaned against the door, looking at his father, biting back the sigh that was always waiting to drop from his lips nowadays. There was nothing of the old Jeff Tracy there anymore. His determination lost to an unyielding sea of hopelessness. John had watched it happen. Watched his father waste away. And could do nothing to stop it.

"Dad." he said softly, stirring his father from his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

It was the only response he ever got anymore. In the beginning he had at least been granted words.

"Dad, you've been here three days straight. You need to go home. Get some sleep. Eat. Talk to Scott. Anything."

"Hmm."

John swallowed the frustrated scream bubbling up inside him. "Ok dad, I'll see you again tomorrow." he turned away, unable to keep trying. Everyday it was the same. No, it wasn't the same… It wasn't. Everyday his father kept getting more and more distant. John wanted to hold out hope. But it was just another thing he couldn't fix.

Next came Scott. He made his way to the nearest Vid phone, dialling the Island's number and waiting. It was Kyrano who answered.

"Master Tracy," he said, his smile of greeting sad.

John summoned a smile in return. "Hi Kyrano. You couldn't get Scott on the line could you?"

"If you'll give me a moment." Kyrano nodded.

John gave that brief smile again and nodded, waiting. After a long few minutes the image flicked to the study, where Scott was busy writing on a few papers. Finally he looked up. "Hey John." he said.

"Hey." John responded. "Working on anything interesting?" he asked. Because it was easier to lead Scott into a conversation this way. Everything was focused on work for him now.

"No."

"There's been no change." he plunged in, silently begging his brother to ask with who.

Nothing. Scott looked back down at his work.

"Scott--" he tried again.

"Sorry John, I've got another call coming through."

With that John found himself looking at a blank screen. His frustration left him in a hiss of breath as his fingers once again clawed through is hair.

No time to sit here, no time to wallow in self pity, no time to wish his family would pull together. No time to be angry with himself for letting them fall apart. John stood. He still had places to go and things to do. He had his list, he would follow his list.

It was the only thing he could do anymore.

Pick up the pieces.

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	4. Chapter 3

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_Chapter 3_

John took a deep breath before entering the room, subconsciously rubbing his free hand against his jeans, in a manner than should anyone have been watching him would have classed as a nervous tick. One that was growing with every passing second. Closing his eyes and ruthlessly shoving down the memories that were growing he opened the door and stepped in.

He swallowed his nausea as the phantom smell of blood assaulted his senses. Putting on his smile, with the ease of one who had to do this one too many times in his life he made himself approach the bed. It had been two weeks now… two weeks from…

"Hey Virgil." he said, redirecting his thoughts, focusing completely on the pale brother before him.

Virgil looked at him, guilt in his eyes, but John ignored that. He didn't want to know what that guilt was. Didn't want to have to address it. Even though he knew he should. "John." his brother answered him quietly.

John took the seat beside the bed, forcibly reminding himself not to think about what had happened, not to remember the way the blood never stopped. The complication that had occurred when they finally got Virgil to a hospital. The way they had almost lost him three times on the way in. The scare days afterwards when the bleeding had started again.

Realising he was rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans again he stopped and looked back at Virgil, noticing that the guilt in his eyes had only increased as he had watched him. "How you doing?" he asked, putting the smile back on.

"I'm fine." Virgil replied, though John didn't know if he was being honest or not. "How's Gordon?"

"No change."

"The others?"

John shrugged. "The same."

"You?"

John dreaded that question. Why did the one person to give a damn what was going on in his head have to be Virgil. Virgil had enough to contend with getting better. He didn't need to hear about the nightmares John had been having, even if he had been in them. He didn't need to know how hard it was becoming for John to get up in the morning and do what he had to.

"I'm fine." he answered finally.

There was silence for a long moment.

"I'm sorry." Virgil broke it softly.

John frowned at him. "Sorry about what?" he edged, crossing his arms to relieve the temptation.

"That I couldn't do it."

John blinked and felt anger swirl up inside him, but he pushed it back down. Virgil didn't need his anger right now. "Couldn't do what?" he made himself ask instead.

"Couldn't kill him. I had him John, I had him and I didn't do it. I could have ended all of it." Virgil whispered.

_You could have ended something alright--Your life you idiotic, stupid, stupid_… John closed his eyes and refused to give voice to that thought. "It's ok Virgil." he said instead, though he wanted to strangle his brother for thinking he could have done it alone, for thinking he had to go after the Hood by himself.

"It's not ok."

John didn't know what to say, or what to do. So he said nothing; he sat there and tried not to remember. Finally he stood, unable to sit there any longer, even though he wished he could, wished he could be there for his brother. "I need to get back to Gordon." he said, not looking at Virgil.

"Okay."

"I'll come see you tomorrow, ok?"

"Sure."

And John left, hating himself for it as he did.

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	5. Chapter 4

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_Chapter 4_

Once again there was no one in the hall Gordon's room was on, and John was glad, because it gave him time to compose himself before entering. It was becoming more and more difficult. He was glad now that he had set up this rotation with the nurse, that he got one hour alone with his brother every morning and afternoon. He didn't think he would have been able to go in there at all if someone else had been there. Though the time he had been spending with Gordon was steadily decreasing the longer this went on.

Just another thing to hate himself for.

Finally he managed to bring himself to open the door and enter.

It took him a few moments to notice that it wasn't silence that greeted him, but the soft sound of sobs. Around the bed in an instant and to the corner Gordon was still curled up in John's face crumpled into pure sorrow for his little brother. He knelt down beside him.

"What's the matter Gordon?" he asked, ignoring the sarcastic comment his brain decided to bestow upon him for the stupid question. Wasn't the answer obvious?

Gordon didn't answer, just kept crying softly.

John wanted to gather him up, but he remembered too well what it had been like in the beginning when he had tried that. What he never expected was for Gordon to take that decision out of his hands and suddenly, without warning, throw himself at him, clutching desperately to his shirt, soaking it slowly with his tears.

His shock easing John slowly put his arms around his brother and hugged him close.

He could only hope that this meant the start of something good.

He didn't think he could handle it if it wasn't.

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	6. Chapter 5

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_Chapter 5_

John sat at the controls of the small Tracy jet, ready to begin taxiing it for takeoff. His mind a whirl of thoughts. If he wasn't so sure about his ability to fly this jet with his eyes closed he wouldn't have been here. And why was he here? That was a good question, and one that continued to assault him. He should be crawling back into bed right now, sleeping the remainder of the day away and the night in readiness for the depressing cycle to continue tomorrow.

Though it wasn't all bad now. Gordon had begun to come round a little more. The crying was a good sign, according to the doctors, the fact that he had clung to him, an even better one. It meant that he was reaching out, that he understood that John did not hold him accountable for what had happened. So that was good. It meant Gordon was coming back to them… him.

But something had drawn him to the airport and to the jet. Something he hadn't really picked up on earlier. Something in Scott's manner. Something that told him he had to go back to the Island. So that was exactly what he was doing.

Take off went without a hitch, and soon John was on his way back to the Island. He didn't know why he could no longer think of it as 'Home', it was now just 'the Island'. That didn't mean to say that anywhere else he had been recently was 'Home', because they weren't. Nowhere held that feeling anymore.

Ignoring the thoughts about his brothers, pushing them back, trying to lose himself in flying. But he had never been as interested in flying as Scott, the stars were more his thing. Something he hadn't seen in a long time. And that brought his thoughts back to his older brother, and the feeling that something was up with him.

He knew it from the way Scott had abruptly ended the call earlier. While conversations between them were no longer long, not really conversational, and never really delved into anything past the giving and taking of facts, Scott had never just signed off on him so abruptly. He hadn't really realised at the time. But now he did.

Scott needed him. His brother might not even realise he did, but John knew. And he couldn't just give up on any of them.

That was the root of it, wasn't it? That he couldn't just stand by and watch everything fall apart, even though no matter what he did, it just wasn't good enough to keep them together.

With an annoyed huff of breath he berated himself for falling once again into self pity. He was beginning to sound like a… like a… dammit he was too tired to think up some literary reference for just what exactly he sounded like.

He just hoped he got to the Island before whatever was going to happen happened. He couldn't bear it if he had to pick another brother off the floor.

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	7. Chapter 6

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_Chapter 6_

"Scott?" John called onto the office, frowning when he found that his brother was not there. Hoping it just meant that Scott had gone to bed to sleep, but knowing it didn't, he made his way over to the desk. Taking the seat behind the desk, knowing it wouldn't be long before Scott returned. He looked at the mass of papers that littered the desk and sighed deeply. With a single minded purpose of someone who didn't want to think too much he began to tidy them up. Even if Scott complained that he'd ruined his system, at least it would be something.

He shuffled through the papers, putting as many as he could see were from the same project together, until his eye caught on a single word and he froze. His blood freezing inside him. He swallowed hard, feeling like his whole body was going into shutdown.

His jerk to his feet, the paper crinkling as his fingers clenched around it, was more of a shock to him than anything else, his body moving before his mind had a chance to catch up. Blindly hoping and swearing that he would find his brother before anything happened.

His frantic search of the house was a desperate rush against time. All the hangers checked and double checked, eyes darting to every available hiding place, anywhere Scott could conceal himself, hide from him, wait until he left to carry out…

When he was sure Scott was not in the hangers, and nothing was out of place, everything there that could possibly use, he began to search everywhere else.

He should have known… Should have known Scott would do this.

His search ground to a halt when he reached the console room he had seen Virgil in too many times before…

"Scott!" he gasped, clinging to the doorframe, hoping he wasn't just seeing things, hoping it really was his brother there.

Scott turned to him, surprise clearly written across his face. "John? What are you doing here?"

He made no pretence of covering up what he had been working on.

"Tell me your not really thinking of going after him! Please tell me your not!" John all but begged.

Scott looked back at the screens. "Can't do that."

John released the door and entered the room. "Scott, no. You can't do this. Look at what it did to Virgil!" he pleaded, hoping his brother would see sense.

"I know what he did to Virgil." Scott said quietly. "That's why I have to do this. He needs to be stopped John. He's messed with us one time to many."

John felt himself falling into a black hole he would be unable to escape from. This was Virgil all over again. Breathing becoming erratic he let his anger consume him then, and bit out, scathingly. "When he kills you, don't expect me to collect the body Scott."

With that he spun on his heel and marched down the hall, breaking into a run by the end of the corridor, not stopping until he reached his room, where he slammed the door and let out a scream, full of every emotion he had bottled up inside him since all this had begun.

And the destruction began.

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	8. Chapter 7

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_Chapter 7_

His telescope was the first thing to go. Tossed ruthlessly across the room, the casing cracking. But that just wasn't good enough. So he lifted it again, holding it at the slim end and swinging it like a club, hitting everything and anything, the lens shattered when it hit his bookcase, it snapped in half when it smashed against his headboard. He dropped it.

It was with a cool sort of detachment that he realised he was destroying his room, in that small part of his mind that was still rational, and knew that he shouldn't be acting this way, that he should try and find some solution to the problem.

But that rational part of him was easily overshadowed and shoved aside by the blind rage that consumed him. That demanded he hurt something. Rein destruction upon something.

His books were next, pages torn for them as his anger continued, thrown away from him. The bookcase knocked to the side. Pictures of his family tossed away carelessly. He didn't want to see them. Couldn't see them happy. Content.

A family.

The rage began to fade, and the sadness grew, and he turned to the last thing in his room not destroyed; and with a final, half-hearted push John sent the computer crashing to the ground, before crumpling himself, sliding to the floor from the desk. Surrounded on all side's by destruction. Destruction of his own making. Destruction he had wrought. With his own hands…

Hands that had been covered in blood…

That had been…

_He was beside Virgil in an instant, hands covering the blood soaked shirt; unable to find out where it was coming from, feeling the warmth of the blood. Eye's desperately searching for some way to stop it, to push it all back inside._

But he couldn't… Hadn't been able to…

Oh God!

_He pressed harder, using his own shirt, torn from him in a panic to staunch the blood flow. His heart sinking as Virgil's face just got more and more pale, and the blood continued to pool around him. _

Oh god… Virgil…

The sob's began, grating, unstable… making his breath catch, making him panic when he could no longer breathe through them, only making it worse. As images tumbled past him. Of Alan, Gordon, Virgil… or Scott, sitting in that damn office, oblivious to everything outside it's walls. His father… to wrapped up to notice his other sons needed him.

Then of Scott… in Virgil's place…

John flung a book from the floor, sending it crashing into the window. Not caring that he'd cracked the glass… Not caring…

God…

Finally the sobs eased, the anger eased, the pain faded to a dull aching throb where his heart should be, and the room was silent save for his shaking breaths.

He sat there, amidst his own destruction, and wished someone would come for him.

Wished someone would tell _him_ everything was going to be alright.

He was tired of being the one everyone turned to.

He couldn't do it anymore…

Tears came again, silently this time, desolation clear on his face, shining in his eyes. Knowing no one was going to come to him. Knowing this was the only time he would get to cry. His family needed him to be strong. Needed him to keep them together when they couldn't themselves.

So he cried, alone, in a room strewn with books, pages ripped from them, pictures, their frames scattered and broken. Every single thing he had ever treasured flung away, the room dark, cold.

Like him.

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	9. Epilogue

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_Epilogue_

Scott inched the door open slowly. He had thought, for the first time in weeks, really thought, and had realised that he was in danger of doing exactly what Virgil had done. And remembering the way John's tone had been pleading, a desperation there he had not noticed before. Too caught up ion his own grief.

Some Big brother he was.

"John?" he said quietly into the dark room, easing the door open more fully, ignoring the state of the room.

"What?" it was soft, quiet, and lifeless.

Scott stepped into the room, avoiding the books and broken pieces of picture glass until he as beside John's hunched up figure. "I'm sorry." he said softly.

"No you're not. By tomorrow you'll just go back to your work, back to looking for _him_, and it won't matter that Dad is getting more and more distant, or that Virgil is beating himself up over not being able to kill _him,_ or that Gordon is starting to come round… or that I… I…"

"You?" Scott asked gently.

"That I can't… I can't… Scott…" that was all John could get out.

Scott gathered him up, pulling him close.

There were no tears, John had cried them all out.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't think I mean it. But I am. It's just that everything just came as such a shock. First Alan, then Gordon losing it. And then Virgil. I'm sorry John. I never even thought about what needed to be done, about what you've been doing. But it's going to change now. I promise." he pressed a kiss to John's hair.

There was no answer, and Scott could understand that.

He wouldn't trust anything like this if he were on John's shoes. It just meant he had to prove it to him. And he would. It was time he started behaving like a big brother again.

John stared blankly off to the side. Wanting so badly to believe what Scott said. Needing to. But it hurt too much. What if it didn't work. What if Scott retreated back into work. What if he went back to looking for _Him_? There were so many 'what if's'. Too many.

Only time would tell he supposed.

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